


As Long As It Lasts

by orphan_account



Series: before they let us go hs!au [3]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, background lindsay/meg, background ray/jack, background ryan/michael, disclaimer: i know nothing about photography, highschool!au, implied past self harm and past suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:34:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are two things Gavin knows off the top of his head with 100% certainty. The first thing is that at the camera shop down the street from the school, a pack of Polaroid paper costs 15 dollars and 34 cents. The second thing he knows is that the new clerk at said shop is undeniably attractive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Scarlet Macaws Can't Smoke Crack

Gavin ducked between the aisles of the camera shop, nervously avoiding the sight line of the bored clerk checking his phone at the register. That certainly was not Mrs. McElheny, not even close. Gavin had been coming to this store ever since he moved to town, and yet not once had he ever seen this strange tattooed man at the counter.

The new clerk had tattoos over his hands, and over his arms to the point where Gavin was fairly certain that underneath the rolled-up sleeves of his work uniform there would be more of them. He had just the slightest amount of beard on his face, and piercing eyes that were somehow tired and interested at the same time. Wait, eye contact. Shit, he’d been caught.

“Are you gonna buy something; or are you just gonna stand there in the aisle jacking off for the next 30 minutes?” the clerk asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gavin let out an involuntary squawk, which seemed to surprise the clerk, just a little.

“Are you like, seizing, do you need an epipen? God, if someone dies on my shift, Mrs. M’ll kill me!” he rambled, voice cracking like mad, but not actually doing anything to get Gavin any help. It was a good thing he wasn’t actually having an issue.

“No, I’m fine, just, uh…just surprised me is all,” Gavin replies, picking the package of Poloroid paper he’d dropped back up off the floor and bringing it to the counter.

“Hey, how come I haven’t seen you in here?” he asks bluntly.

“Hm? Oh, Mrs. M asked me to cover for her this week. She’s got some kidney issue,” the clerk replies. Gavin reads his nametag as he struggles to ring up the paper on the admittedly ancient cash register. Geoff. Huh, weird way to spell it.

“Yeah, don’t remind me. When you live in Alabama, shit gets weird with the naming.” Geoff rolls his eyes like he’s heard it 20 times before.

“Oh bollocks, sorry about that. Didn’t quite, uh…didn’t quite mean to say that out loud,” Gavin replies, his face heating slightly.

“Nah, it’s cool. You go to school around here, kid?”

“Kid?! I’m not a kid!” Gavin says indignantly, handing Geoff the 15 dollars and 34 cents he already knew the paper would cost. He picked up a ream every Friday, he was used to the price by now. Geoff laughed, which only made him more incensed at the comment. “I’m 16!”

“Just messin’ with ya. Don’t worry, you look like the picture of manhood already,” Geoff replies, his voice practically dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, says the guy that looks like he’s 40,” Gavin mutters under his breath, rolling his eyes as Geoff passes him the paper and his receipt.

“I’m only 18!” he protested, crossing his arms over his chest in a way that, even as pouty as it was, was actually kinda hot. Like, really hot. Like a sunrise over the Sahara in June. Wow, that metaphor really went somewhere. By the time he realizes he’s been staring like a dork for a solid 10 seconds, Geoff is already distracted with something else. Gavin bounds away from the counter and out the door before he could say something stupid like “you look like someone a girl would call 'daddy'", but hearing the laughter from behind him, he could tell that his stupid mouth had decided to betray him again. He really had to learn how to filter his thoughts before he said something really stupid. Well, more stupid that the garbage he was used to spewing on a regular basis.

He shoved the receipt into his pocket, not even noticing it until much later, in Photography club, when it just so happened to fall out of his pocket and into Meg’s hands. Either that or she heisted him out of it, which was probably the most likely option. Meg could be as silent as a ninja when she wanted to be.

“Gavin! What’s this in your pocket!” she exclaimed excitedly, waving it around the side of his vision.

“Receipt for some paper,” he replied without looking up from his proofs.

“’Call me when you stop sounding like a scarlet macaw on crack’, and then there’s a number,” Meg explains further, her face lighting up when Gav almost jolts away from the table, grabbing it out of her hand. His face turns red as he looks at the number written in thick black ink.

“Are they cute? Tell me they’re cute at least.”

“How did he even write all that on the bloody receipt? I was looking at him the entire time…” Gavin mumbles, pulling the phone out of his pocket and putting the new number in, almost continuously spinning around the table in a circle to get away from Meg’s eager gaze as she followed behind him. Something about the tone of her voice sounded just a bit too smug for his liking. 

“First of all, you were looking at him the entire time? Second of all, you were looking at _him_ the entire time? Is it that cute guy from the camera store? With all the tattoos?”

“Well, yeah, kinda.”

“Oh my gosh, Gav, you should totally text him, you guys would be adorable!” Meg enthuses, grabbing his arm and shaking it in excitement. I would say almost as adorable as me and Lindsay, but nobody can be that cute.”

“Got that right!” Lindsay yells from the dark room, causing Gavin to roll his eyes. He heard that same joke almost twice a day.

“What would I even say? ‘Hey, we met in the shop earlier and I made an embarrassing noise, dropped a ream of paper on the ground, and called your name weird?’” Gavin neglects to mention the whole ‘ran out of the store after saying something stupid, and almost tripped over the doorjamb and looked even more stupid’ part of the day.

“Well, do you think he’s hot?”

“He’s pretty fit, yeah.”

“Then let me handle it!” Meg exclaims happily, ripping the phone out of Gavin’s hand before he can say anything, and rushing as fast as her legs can carry her into the dark room.

“Meg! Give me my phone back!” Gavin yells, pounding on the heavy wooden door. He can tell that Lindsay’s pushing on it from the other side, so there’s no hope of getting it open. Captain of the softball team versus the guy nicknamed “bird legs”? Yeah, not happening in a billion years.

Luckily, it isn’t too long before the phone comes sliding out from under the door.

“’I think you’re bloody fine, mate, and we should have a drink sometime’? I don’t sound like this!” He exclaims, snatching the phone from the floor as if Meg can steal it again from the other side of the door. It buzzes in his hand almost immediately, a green light blinking in a lazy pattern. Unread.

“Maybe a drink of orange juice, kiddo. I was actually thinking more like you could come hang with me and a friend of mine this Saturday. I think you might know her. Purple hair, glasses?”

“Meg, did you set me up?” He asks, and the snickering behind the door grows even louder.

“Maaaaayyyybe…” comes the reply, muffled by the curtains and sheeting inside the room.

“You are the absolute worst.”

“Oh, c’mon Gavvy-Wavvy. It’ll be fun!”

Whenever the words “it’ll be fun” came out of Meg Turney, you knew there was going to be trouble.


	2. Million Dollars, But...

“Okay, so, you get a million dollars, but…” Gavin says, pausing to let Geoff finish giggling at his last answer.

They were both behind the counter of the camera shop, though no one was shopping currently. Gavin was perched on a chair Geoff had pulled up for him, while the older boy was sitting on the counter, swinging his feet against the cabinets underneath.

“But every time you take a piss, it’s like spaghetti.”

“C’mon, Gav, you’re killin’ me with these.”

“This is an easy one, Geoff!”

“Alright, alright. Is it like uncooked spaghetti, all brittle and shit? Or is it like, the good ol’ cooked stuff.”

“Uh, it’s like cooked spaghetti.”

“Then hell yeah I’d do it.”

“You’d take spaghetti piss for a million dollars?” Gavin asks, his amused surprise evident on his face.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s not like anyone’ll ever call me out on it. Like, at the urinal and some dude just yells, ‘Holy Shit! This guy has spaghetti piss, everyone come laugh at him!’ That’s not gonna happen.”

“Yeah, but it’d feel weird.”

“Rolling around in a pile of a million dollar bills would probably feel weird too, but you wouldn’t see me complaining.” Geoff shrugs, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Gavin just barely manages to tear his eyes away before he starts staring. Again. Stupid adorable Americans. They just have to be everywhere, don’t they?”

“Hey, Gav?” Geoff says, bringing the brit out of his internal rumination. “Where’re you from? And not like, just England, ‘cause that much is obvious, I’m talking like, where in England?”

“Oxfordshire. That’s just a bit west of London, I think.”

“Man, that’s so cool. So you probably went to like, British schools and shit, right?”

“Yeah. Lived there ‘til I was 14, and then started school here.”

“Are foreign schools different from ours? I mean, I went to school in Alabama, which might as well be a different country, but…” Geoff lets his sentence hang, as if the statement was so obvious that it didn’t even need explaining.

“Dunno, I guess the grading scale was different. It was much easier to be a good student.”

“Yeah, I feel you on that one. In middle school, all my teachers fucking hated their jobs, so they just gave us As. Didn’t realize I was stupid ‘til I moved up here and was suddenly fucked over by actually having to work.”

“You’re not stupid, Geoff,” Gavin stresses, causing the older boy to just shrug again.

“Eh, I’m not the smartest tool in the shed. Sharpest. Meant sharpest.”

“No, but you can do so many cool things that require at least a little bit of brains. You skateboard, and that’s all about physics and whatever other math nonsense that goes into doing angles.”

“Sure, I guess that’s true. You know I got a 79 on the asvab? The test that lets you into the military,” he clarifies when he sees that Gavin isn’t quite getting it. “Second highest in my graduating class. Some fat bitch got a 96 and beat me out for top spot.”

“You were going into the army?”

“Yeah, I was. Ducked out at the last second because, uh…well, my mom got sick and I had to take care of her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Gavin says, the subtle smile dropping off his face.

“It’s okay, it was a long time ago. I lied, it was last year, but still. It’s fine.”

“Is she pretty okay now?”

“Huh?”

“Your mom.”

“Well, she’s pretty dead, so I dunno if that counts as okay.”

“Oh god. I’m uh, I’m sorry for asking about it,” Gavin says, putting a comforting hand on Geoff’s shoulder.

“No, its fine, really. Just…don’t drink too much. It fucks you up real bad,” the older boy says, smiling with his mouth, but not his eyes. Gavin makes a mental note to politely decline the next time Michael brought up a riot punch night. They always ended badly anyway.

“Yeah, I promise.”

“Good. And don’t let drunk me to convince you otherwise. He’s a wily sonovabitch. Doesn’t make a bunch of good decisions.”

“Well, I like sober you, so I’m sure I’ll like drunk you,” Gavin mumbles, catching himself at the last minute. Thankfully, Geoff doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Yeah, I almost fought a dude in a 7/11 parking lot once when I was drunk. As it turns out, leaving a lit cigarette next to one of the spray cans he was using to tag the place wasn’t the smartest idea.”

“Wait, spray cans? And at a 7/11? Did he have curly hair and a kinda weird accent?”

“Dunno, Gav. I was kinda really drunk. Sounds familiar though,” the older boy admits.

“That was my boi! That was Michael!” Gavin exclaims happily, as if he’s figured out some big secret.

“Your boy? Like, boyfriend?” Geoff asks, sounding almost disappointed.

“No, not boyfriend. Just friend. I guess it’s just a small world.”

“Small town, more like. This place is like a breadbox with no bread in it.” Geoff pauses, looking out the front window of the shop with an almost wistful glance as a motorcycle passes by. “As soon as I can leave, I’m going to,” he adds, voice steeled with an almost frightening conviction.

“What’s tying you down?” Gavin asks, a little disappointed.

“Can’t just leave Mrs. M to watch the shop alone. And uh,” he continues, voice dropping in volume, “there’s another thing holding me back, I guess. Another person.”

“How long will that last?”

“As long as it needs to.”

“So you’ll be around?”

“Why, missing me already?” Geoff laughs, and Gavin can feel his heart jolt with electricity, beating even faster than it had been.

“Might be a little bit,” he responds with a small smile.

“Well don’t worry. I’ll be around. Working a dead end job for a little above minimum wage, and confined to a counter and cash register older than my car, but around.”

“If you’ve got nothing better to do, you should come hang out with me and my friends sometime. They’re really nice, I promise.”

“What? Hang out with a bunch of sophomores at the bowling alley?” Geoff suggests sarcastically. “No thanks, man. I like my dignity just fine where it is.”

“It’s not just sophomores, and we don’t hang out at the bowling alley. I’m pretty sure this town doesn’t even have a bowling alley. You know Jack…what the hell is his bloody name?” Gavin stalls on the name for a brief second before Geoff chimes in.

“Pattillo? You guys know ol’ Jacky boy?”

“Yeah! He’s my friend Ray’s boyfriend! You know Jack?”

“Hell yeah I do! We meet up for drinks at his house and get trashed and watch sports every time his parents are out of town. You guys are the nerds he’s always rambling about? With the hospital hideout?”

“That’s us!”

“Man, it really is a small world.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just gonna leave this (beforetheyletusgoau.tumblr.com) here...


	3. Leinenkugel's Is Fucking Disgusting, By The Way

“So you’re going on a date?” Michael asks, as delicately as he could possibly manage.

“No, we’re just having a couple cheeky bevs at Meg’s house, that doesn’t count as a date.”

“It counts as a date if you suck his dick.”

“Michael!”

“It’s true.”

“Don’t pay him any mind, Gavin. He’s a little riled up today,” Ryan explains from the driver’s seat to the lad seated in the back of the car. Michael was sitting up front, looking over the seat to needle at the brit.

“I’m just nervous, is all,” Gavin admits, tossing a sidelong glance into the rearview mirror. “I really like this guy, Ryan.”

“I know. From what Michael tells me, you’ve been back to that store every day this week.”

“Geoff’s got a whole chair set up for him behind the counter. They sit and talk for houuuuurs about the most random, inane shit I’ve ever heard in my life. Like seriously, they spend literal hours talking about millions of “what if” type questions and shit. Or “wot if” I guess. I can barely get him out of the damn store to come hang out anymore,” Michael complains.

“Pot calling the kettle black,” Ryan points out, and Michael shrugs.

“Got me there, Rye-Bread.”

“But Geoff’s just so…”

“Not your usual type?” Michael offers helpfully.

“No, he’s just so interesting. He’s got so many cool stories about things! He skateboards on the weekends, and he invited me to go with him sometime-“

“Now that would be a real date,” Ryan interjects, while Gavin continues.

“And he drove all the way back to Alabama for a football game, and he jumped off the Broad Street overpass into the river, and he got chased by cops on 55! He’s so interesting, and I’m just…me. I take pictures for fun, that’s nothing compared to the cool stuff he does.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Gavin. Your photography is amazing,” Ryan says, looking into the mirror briefly, before turning back to the road ahead of him.

“Yeah, your stuff is super good!” Michael enthuses from the passenger seat.

“But it’s like, shut-in stuff, yeah? I mean, I don’t have any good stories from being a photographer.”

“There was that time we got chased by cops because you were photographing Michael’s art. Well, I say cops. I don’t think mall cops count as actual officers of the law, but that’s kinda beside the point.”

“There was that time we got chased by Ray and Jack ‘cause we caught them making out in that closet.”

“Not exactly a story I can tell at parties, Micoo.”

“It was pretty funny, to be fair,” Ryan says, as if that makes it okay.

“Ray chased me for six blocks! Six blocks!” Gavin almost yells, still trying to keep his voice low since they were technically on the road.

“I’ve never seen him run that fast, honestly.”

“Michael!”

“Alright, alright, I’m sure being headlocked like a champ by a tiny Puerto Rican was terrifying at the time, but it makes a good story now. That’s what you wanted, right? Good stories?”

“Well, yeah, but like…ones that make me sound cool.”

“So like, the opposite of you in real life?” Michael starts to laugh, but stops when he sees that Gavin is actually a little upset.

“Listen, Gavin, here’s the best advice either of us can give you: just be you. And yeah, that’s cheesy and from like, every teen movie that’s ever been on Disney channel, but it’s true,” Ryan says, fiddling with the heat settings on the dash. The winter air was seeping in through the door seals again, something Ray complained about every time he was in the car.

“Yeah, it’s true. I mean, I landed a hot guy by being my disagreeable, angry self, so I’m sure you can win one over with your workaholic charms.”

“I hope so,” Gavin says, sliding forward on the leather seat as the Bronco jolts to stop in front of a little house on the corner.

“Stop one, for the young monsieur in the back. The house of one “Meg Turney”, Ryan says, while Michael climbs out of the passenger seat to let Gavin hop out. He gives the other lad a quick hug before climbing back into the car and closing the door.

The car sped off again, and Gavin winces as he hears Michael yell “you can do it, Gav!” from the open window.

He walked up to Meg’s door, as he was so used to doing, and knocked on it lightly. After a bit of yelling, a shock of purple hair appeared from behind the door.

“Hey, Gav! C’mon in!” she enthused, pulling him into the room.

The inside of Meg’s house was warm, as usual, filled with the smell of cinnamon Christmas candles and cigarette smoke. The entire place was plastered in reams of brightly colored fabric and ribbon, a few seats cleared away on the couch and a fluffy recliner. He could hear something sizzling away in the kitchen.

“Geoff’s making us grilled cheeses. He’s a really good cook,” Meg explains, gesturing to the couch. She ducks into the kitchen as Gavin sits down and comes back with a can of Leinenkugel’s that she all but shoves into Gavin’s hand.

“I wish you didn’t drink this gross foreign crap,” he complains, as she sits down in the chair. It almost dwarfs her with how big it is against her tiny frame.

“I bet you tell all the girls that.”

“What?”

“I was making a reference to…I mean, you’re foreign, so- you know what, nevermind. You’ll get it when you’re older.”

“I got a cheddar jack, a provolone, and a- oh, hey, Gav, didn’t know you were here,” Geoff says, entering the room while balancing a plate stacked to the brim with fried sandwiches on his arm, a beer in the other hand.

“Yeah, hey Geoff,” Gavin replies, waving the hand not holding his beer. Geoff smiles, and suddenly he feels 20 times more comfortable.

“So how drunk are we planning to get tonight, boys? Cause I got a case of Lennie’s, a bottle of chardonnay, and an incredible need to party it up ‘til I can’t stand,” Meg asks from her armchair throne, tapping her fingertips together like a cartoon villain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a quick note, "55" is the name of a highway here in Jersey, but nobody calls it "highway 55" we just call it 55. Fun fact about a shitty state, I guess. Oh, and also, I finally figured out how two-door cars work in this one. I mean, I work in an autoshop, I should know how to write a car, but I digress.


	4. Sometimes All You Want To Do Is Hide

Gavin could barely feel his face, but he couldn’t stop laughing. He and Geoff were several beers in, leaning against opposite sides of the couch, and Meg was doing her “I am a modern major general” bit in the chair across from them. She swings her arm a little too much and knocks down a glass.

“Aw, glass. Why you gotta be like that?” she whispers sadly, staring at the thing like it was a whining puppy.

“You’re drunk, Meg, go home,” Geoff laughs, which only makes Gavin laugh harder. Everything he said seemed so funny all of a sudden. Well, more than when he was sober, at least. And he was way hotter now, too. The way the light kinda bent around his hands when he gestured was really interesting. Like a lens blare. Flare. Whatever.

“But I am home. This is my house!” Meg nearly yells, throwing herself so far back in the big recliner that it tips over entirely, which drunk Gavin finds absolutely hilarious. He spends almost a full minute in peeling laughter before countering with a joke of his own.

“Hey, Geoff, if a red house is made out of red bricks, and a blue house is made out of blue blicks,” Gavin slurs drunkenly, pointing a finger in the general direction of where he thinks Geoff is. “Then what’s a green house made out of?”

“Dunno, Gav, what’s a green house made out of?”

“I like when you call me Gav, it sounds really nice,” Gavin mumbles, losing his train of thought, and inching ever so slightly closer to the other side of the couch.

“Wait, it’s glass! Greenhouse!” Geoff exclaims excitedly, not seeming to have heard a thing Gavin said.

“Yeah, a greenhouse! You’re such a smart guy, Geoff.”

“You’re drunk too? Geez, you guys are a bunch of lightweights,” the obviously also drunk older boy replies, with a chuckle. Gavin thinks he can hear choir bells in his heart every time he hears that laugh. He’s been coming into the camera shop all week just to flirt with the pretty clerk. Of course, not without good reason. He’s got stacks and stacks of paper on his desk from his repeated trips.

Geoff gets up and slides a hand under the crook of Gavin’s knees, and another around his back, lifting him off the couch. He sways a bit, before regaining his balance.

“Oi, where do you think you’re taking me?” Gavin squawks, as Geoff carries him tipsily down the hall to Meg’s guest room.

“Shhhhh, I’m putting the drunk baby to sleep.”

“I’m not drunk!”

“You’re fucking wasted, dude.”

“Well I’m not a baby.”

“You could be my baby if you want,” Geoff says, and for a second, Gavin thinks he’s serious, but then there’s that cancer-curing laugh again and he realizes it’s gotta be a joke. Geoff finally manages to get down the hall, and into the guest room, laying Gavin as gently as he can onto the bed. Which, as it turns out, is not very gently. His head smacks against the headboard like a hockey stick on a face mask.

“Oh shit. My bad, Gav. You okay?” Geoff asks, looking down at him, his voice full of worry.

“All fine, Geoffers,” Gavin says, smiling to show that yeah, he’s okay. He’ll have a hell of a headache in the morning, but he’ll be okay.

“Geoffers?”

“That’s what my friend Michael calls you.”

“Well, that’s dumb. Could at least call me something cool.”

“I could call you my boyfriend,” Gavin replies, “That’d be pretty cool.”

“Nah, that’d be lame. You’d be sick of me in a week,” Geoff says, standing back up. Before he can turn away, Gavin grabs his hand.

“I wouldn’t.”

Geoff chuckles, but it’s different from the ones Gav’s been hearing all night. This one sounds sad, and it breaks his fragile heart.

“Gavin, no offense, but you need someone. And that someone shouldn’t be me.”

“No way. Meg’s been telling me all about you all week and every little thing just makes me like you more.”

“I ducked out of the military at the last minute.”

“Yeah, to help your mom. That’s so nice, Geoff. It really is, no sarcasm this time.”

Geoff sits down on the side of the bed and Gav sits up next to him, looking right into his eyes the entire time.

“My car’s a wreck and I don’t have a place of my own.”

“I don’t care about that.”

“I mean, that’s a pretty big thing. Like, I don’t have a house.”

“Geoff, give yourself some credit.”

“I know, I know.”

“Just name one thing you like about yourself, c’mon, please?” Gavin reaches forward to gently grab Geoff’s wrist, and suddenly the older boy is a feral animal, curled against the footboard, his arms drawn into his chest, teeth bared in a snarl. In a moment, he realizes his mistake, realizes the fear that creeps onto Gavin’s face.

“Sorry. Sorry, Gav, sorry.”

Gavin doesn’t say anything, just staring at him, suddenly lost in his own thoughts. Geoff sighs, getting up and mumbling a quick goodnight before leaving. Gavin can hear his footsteps all the way back to the living room.

\-------------

Gavin woke up the next morning, the taste of gross plum beer still haunting his mouth like the world’s worst ghost and wandered out of the guest room and down the hall. There was the unmistakable smell of pancakes coming from the kitchen, calling to him like a siren. He stumbled past Meg curled up on the couch, covered with a stack of warm blankets, and through the kitchen door.

Geoff was at the stove, flipping a shortstack onto a plate with one hand, a glass of water in the other. He’d found an apron somewhere in Meg’s pantry that was bedazzled with a bright pink line of lettering that said “Kiss the cook”.

“Oh, hey Gav. I uh, I made some pancakes,” Geoff says, finally noticing the lad’s presence at the door.

“Yeah, I can see that. They smell really good.”

“Well, you know…I try, I guess.”

There’s a second of awkward silence where neither of them want to speak, to break the silence that’s covering up the real question on the table. Gavin shifts awkwardly from side to side, until Geoff finally sighs, setting his glass down and extending an arm, wrist up.

Gavin looks up, catching a glimpse of what Geoff had been trying so desperately to hide the night before. A neat, raised scar running down the center of his wrist to the middle of his forearm, nearly hidden by a detailed tattoo of a river. Geoff pulls his arm back, rubbing the scar protectively.

“You asked me last night to name one thing I like about myself,” Geoff starts, avoiding looking straight at Gavin. “I don’t have much. I like my tattoos, I like my hair on a good day, I guess. But the one thing I really like about myself, that I didn’t even realize until last night, was that I stayed alive long enough to meet you.”

Gavin almost jolts forward, wrapping his arms around the older boy in a tight hug.

“I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m glad I did it,” Geoff mumbles into his shoulder.

“You deserve the world, Geoff.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted a thing for a friend for another fandom, and now I feel guilty about not updating this, so here, have another chapter, on the house.


	5. Newports Are Absolute Garbage

Gavin woke up to the soft orange light of early morning filtering through the curtains, illuminating his room. He sat up, stretching his arms above his head with a soft noise that bubbled up from his throat. The covers beside him were disheveled and thrown over onto his side of the bed.

Across the room, Geoff was sitting back in Gavin’s desk chair, quite nearly tipping it over, looking up at the bulletin board of Polaroids above the tabletop.

It was one of Gavin’s hobbies, a compulsion, almost. He took pictures of his friends, of sunsets, and landscapes. Of especially fun nights, and bright, blurred lights. Of Michael falling asleep in Ryan’s arms in the backseat of Sheila the Tank (the dumb name Geoff had given the continually broken down Bronco) at the drive-in, and of Ray chasing him full-tilt down the road after a particularly dicey night of drinking. There were pictures of Michael’s hands, battered and bruised, or patched up with bandages, or covered in engine grease and alternator belt splinters. There were pictures of his art, in a variety of different lights, and even one lighted by red and blue lights. There were pictures of things disjointed from their context. A bottle of Leinenkugel’s on a kitchen counter, a skateboard leaned against the grill of Geoff’s ’96 Mustang, a flashlight illuminating a stolen plastic lawn Santa. In the bottom corner of the board, there were pictures of Geoff, smiling at a stupid joke, or posing next to the overpass on Broad, or next to the speed limit sign on the highway.

They were memories of good times. Gavin almost sees them as a record of their lives. When the rest of the world forgets about them, when their names mean nothing, they’ll still have these little snapshots of the happiness that once was.

“Are these all yours?” Geoff asks, his voice awestruck by the sight.

“Y-yeah, those are all me.”

“They’re beautiful. All of them, every single one.” He pulls the tack out from one, setting it carefully on the desk before bringing the picture over. He sits down on the bedside, passing the square photo to Gavin.

It was a shot of the room at Mercy Medical, slightly different now than it had been a few months ago. There was an air mattress against each wall now, each with their own peacefully sleeping inhabitants. It had been the night after Jack’s eighteenth birthday, and the lads and Geoff had gotten completely trashed and hadn’t fallen asleep until the early hours of the morning. The picture was taken in the early hours of dawn, the light shining in through the thin hospital window. Ryan and Michael were curled up together under a huge printed quilt in the bottom of the frame, Michael’s feet hanging over the edge, and out of the blanket. Ray and Jack were across the room, Jack leant up against the wall, Ray in his lap, his head curled sleepily into the crook of the older boy’s neck. Geoff was splayed out across the other mattress, a suspicious Gavin-shaped space left under his arm.

“This one might be my favorite,” Gavin admits, smiling at the fond memory.

“It’s my favorite too,” Geoff says, scooching farther onto the bed and putting an arm around the lad’s waist, and resting his chin on his shoulder. “It makes us look like a little family.”

“We _are_ a little family. When we’re around each other, everything just feels…it all just feels right. Like that’s how it’s supposed to be, yeah? Mercy doesn’t feel like just an abandoned hospital, because when you guys are there, it feels like home. It feels like I’m going home.”

“I know, I know. I never thought the smell of woodrot and cigarettes would be so inviting,” Geoff snarks, which makes Gavin chuckle quietly to himself.

“Yeah, I know. Never thought I’d get used to smoke everywhere, but I guess life is weird like that.”

“He doesn’t even smoke the good shit, either,” Geoff complains. Gavin can’t remember a day when he didn’t grumble about Ryan’s little habit. “It’s just shitty Newports all the damn time. We gotta splurge to get the kid some real shit sometime.”

“Aw Geoff, don’t be so mean. He can’t help what he likes.”

“Well, he likes Michael, so I guess I can’t judge him too much.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Gavin asks with an amused smile.

“I mean, have you seen Michael recently? Like, damn, if I wasn’t in a very committed relationship with a cute Brit, and he wasn’t head over heels for Ryan, my dick would be in his mouth so quick your head would spin.”

“Don’t think you’re quite his type, Geoffrey.”

“What?” Geoff looks at Gav, an incredulous look plastered across his face. “I’m totally his type. One hundred fucking percent.”

“Nope, totally not.”

“Alright, we’re solving this right now,” Geoff says, laughing and pulling out his phone. He dials Michael’s number and puts the ringer on speaker.

“Hello?” Michael’s sleepy voice replies from the other side.

“Hey buddy, sorry for waking you up so early, but me an’ Gav got a quick question for you.”

“If you’re gonna ask me if I want to have a threesome, I’m gonna have to decline. Again.”

“No, but it’s sorta related to that. Hypothetically, if you were to have to pick yes or no, am I your type?” Geoff asks, and Michael snorts so loudly on the other end that it blows out the audio for a second.

“I mean, sure. Trebek, I’ll take “tattooed daddies” for 1000, please.” At that, Gavin finally loses it, laughing so hard that he almost can’t breathe while Geoff thanks Michael and hangs up.

“See? Told you I was right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with that, I exeunt stage left. I'm definitely going to do more for this au, since it's like, my new baby, but I probably won't do anymore long fics like this one and the others I did before (that's a complete lie, I probably totally will). Though, if you want to send in ideas or prompts or whatever, I do have a tumblr (advantagetexas) and a blog specifically for this au, actually (beforetheyletusgoau.tumblr.com).


End file.
